


Melody

by boxofwonder



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: ALL THE GOOD STUFF, Dancing, Gen, Recovery, Violins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-27
Updated: 2017-11-27
Packaged: 2019-02-07 08:39:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12837462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/boxofwonder/pseuds/boxofwonder
Summary: It’s like he lost his magic when his heart got cracked open. Like all he ever was poured out, slipped between his fingers, and left him empty. A body going through motions, a mind taking over where his heart cannot anymore.What is all the perfection in this world when he can’t - even -feelanymore?





	Melody

He stretches, gaze carefully away from the mirror. Listens to the call of the trainer, and barely feels the strain in his muscles, barely feels anything.

Follows the instructions, goes through the motions.

This isn’t dancing.

Not anymore.

Oikawa changes out of his gym clothes charged to the brim with frustration. Shoves them into his bag and tosses it over his shoulder and rushes out before someone can, _yet again,_ point out that he’s not in it with all his soul. He _knows._ Better than anyone.

Oikawa _knows_ and the only thing he _doesn’t_ know is how to get it back.

It’s like he lost his magic when his heart got cracked open. Like all he ever was poured out, slipped between his fingers, and left him empty. A body going through motions, a mind taking over where his heart cannot anymore.

What is all the perfection in this world when he can’t - even - _feel_ anymore?

He comes to a screeching halt, gasps a frustrated not-sob into the cold spring air. Presses his knuckles against the freezing brick wall next to him, enough pressure to to make his hand ache, not enough to crack his skin. He stands, wishing he could cry, but his body only tenses, locks up, every muscle of his body refusing him. He holds his breath, hoping that might crack him. But where pain should be, where anger should be, where _anything_ should be - nothing, there is nothing, only numbness.

He wants to scream.

But even when the street lies quiet, dormant, he can’t risk anyone seeing Oikawa Tooru screaming to himself in the middle of the night. He slowly takes his aching knuckles away from the brick wall, and forces himself to move, one stiff step after another. He feels drunk, buzzed without the warmth or pleasantry of it.

Entirely beside himself.

And tired. He is so tired. Oikawa wants to sink to the ground and curl up, to fall into a slumber until the wounds would fade. His skin has long healed, but everything else has not. With every movement, he feels the lingering bruises, the horror creeping up on him. Every time he dances, he can feel the shadows curl and grasp for him, try to tear him back to that place -

He presses both hands over his mouth, muffles whatever sound yearns to break free. Just stands there, frozen again.

Why is this so hard?

Why can’t he move forward?

Why can’t he forget?

It is that moment that a shaky melody rises into the air, thin and achingly tender. At first, it feels like a dream, a hallucination.

But the tune unfolds with slow care, a little stronger, shivering still. A violin’s melody.

Oikawa’s clammy fingers fall from his lips, and he wraps his arms around himself instead. Feels himself shiver, too. The night air is harsh for spring, ruthless. But that melody stubbornly rises above the cold, unflinching.

It’s beautiful in a way that makes Oikawa’s throat tighten, makes a sliver of something shift deep inside him, where all feelings have been buried. The road home leads straight ahead, but he slips into the side alley, steps hesitant but steadily onward.

The melody lures him, calls to him, and he is helpless as he stumbles to meet it. Every step more makes his heart beat, beat so hard in his chest he can feel it, he can _feel it,_ and Oikawa makes a choked up noise as he reaches to embrace it. That sweet, achingly soft melody sliding over the frayed ends of his nerves, soothing the ache that goes so deep it feels like it is nestled in his bones.

Another little noise escapes him, and he is no longer stumbling, but not quite walking either. His feet follow the tune, and he can feel it - his heart, begging to surrender.

 _No,_ he tells himself, but he doesn’t know why any longer, as he reaches the source of that playing - hears it clear and bright as it fills the air from a little garden, beyond a faded yellow fence.

Oikawa closes his eyes. There are a million reasons telling him no, but that melody caresses him, whispers to him, and his heart, it _yearns,_ and he cannot deny himself this.

The bag falls to the ground with a hollow thud.

With his eyes still closed, he allows himself what he had not in so long - to fall. He spreads his arms and falls into the music, trusts it to carry him, and it knocks the breath from his lungs when he moves.

No worry. No thought.

No bruises. No fear.

The melody lifts him, the breeze beneath his wings, and it twirls him through the air.

He sinks with its heaviness, feels the ground beneath his palms and yet his head is raised - he is not yet defeated, even on the ground, he is still here and still fighting.

And he rises back up, to the sound of those shivering tunes - so fragile, and yet, so undeniable. A breath, and yet, it fills the night sky.

For the first time, Oikawa opens his eyes, hit with the view of the stars. It blurrs, but he shifts already, steps and twirls and falls and rises again.

Every time he is on the ground, he rises to meet the stars, and the tune carries his heart. Makes it rush faster than the fear could creep in, his mind filled with nothing but the colours behind his eyelids and the imprint of the stars that had watched him dance.

He is dancing, _dancing,_ embodying emotion without a care. And for a moment, he feels like _himself -_ Oikawa Tooru, who had nursed his aching ankles and bleeding feet. The tooth-gapped boy who fell in love with dance and had stubbornly, achingly loved it through all the pain and the doubt and had come out here.

And nothing could take that from him.

His body is made for this, made to soar with a melody, to stretch and twist and reach and bow, to rise and spin and breathe and _feel._

He is made for this, and it feels so clear, so simple, so unwavering. He is made for this, he is made for this, _he is made for this._

The melody breathes out and comes to a slow, slow halt, and so does Oikawa. He slows and stills with it, feels his chest rise and fall in the silence. His heart hammers a joyous, exhausted beat. The cool night air is nothing but a welcome caress to his hot skin now, to his burning heart.

He slowly relaxes the last stance he had taken - one hand loosely curled over his heart, the other reaching, blindly, towards the sky -

Wondrously, he curls that reaching hand towards himself - surprised by how certain it had felt, to reach for something better, like it was only a breath away from his grasp.

The rustle of movement brings him back to the moment with shocking clarity, but before he can slip out of sight, a person steps towards the gate, face illuminated by the street lamp. A round face, as achingly gorgeous as that melody, and brown eyes that seem warmer even than the thunder of Oikawa’s heart.

“Thank you,” the stranger breathes, the violin cradled to his chest with the same reverent wonder as Oikawa’s grasping fingers.

A breathless laugh escapes Oikawa - how could the stranger thank _him_ when it was his melody that had brought Oikawa _this_? To feel at ease in his own skin, with his own heart, to feel and yet, have the pain at bay. Oikawa opens his mouth to reply something, but all he does is realise that his cheeks are wet, and he laughs a breathy not-sob as he wipes at them. “Your tune -” He wishes his voice could be steadier, but he only sniffles, rubs his cheeks. “Beautiful - it is beautiful.”

The stranger’s fingers curl over the faded yellow of the fence and he inches forwards, hips pressed against its restraint, as close as he can be. “You are beautiful.”

Oikawa presses his hands over his tear-stained, burning cheeks, and watches the stranger’s eyes widen, his cheeks blush scarlet as he hurries to say: “Your dance - you - you dancing, that - beautiful. I’ve never seen anything so beautiful.”

Oikawa’s hand twitches with the need to hide his stupidly dopey smile, but he allows the stranger to see it - lets his hands fall away from his flustered, puffy face. “Thank you,” he says, the words that ring the truest.

And they smile at each other, stupidly.

Wordlessly.

Oikawa has the feeling his dance said more than any words could have, and he looks at that gentle face of his stranger, his song still in Oikawa’s heart, and it feels like he is not quite a stranger.

“I - I am Oikawa Tooru.” He just wants him to know.

The stranger smiles - a small smile, and so genuine. The grip on his instrument loosened, and he cradles it with thoughtless gentleness now. “Sugawara Koushi,” he says, his voice smooth and even. “It is very nice to meet you.” His words ring heavy, and Oikawa shivers, in a different way now.

He feels so vulnerable, and yet, he can’t bring himself to retreat back into the night, to the false safety of his own mind. “Will you play more?” he asks, and he cannot care how eager he sounds.

Sugawara smiles again - it feels like Oikawa could get addicted to this, making him smile - “Would you stay if I did?”

It is not even a question. “Yes,” Oikawa breathes. He wants to meet that melody again, immerse himself in it. Wants to feel it coax from his heart what he could not allow - pain and despair eased by hope and joy. Fear replaced with breathlessness.

That one moment, where nothing had mattered, where he had felt whole.

He wanted to chase that feeling.

He wanted to know the person who had brought it to him.

“Then, would you care to join me?” Sugawara asks, his words smooth but his trembling fingers betraying him as he opens the garden gate, inviting Oikawa in even when his eyes are guarded with the fear of being rejected.

If it is those eyes on him, Oikawa would love to dance again. Dance until his muscles burn and his head is empty with fatigue and dizziness and bone-deep satisfaction of pushing to his limits and dancing with all his soul.

Even if the magic only lasts tonight, he wants to feel it, take all that was offered to him, and cling to it, with all his might.

He clumsily grasps for his bag and follows Sugawara Koushi into his small garden, a smile on his lips that is as true and real as his dance from before.

For just this moment, he feels okay - more than that.

He feels like he has already touched _something better_ with his fingertips, unable yet to hold onto it - but he will, he will, eventually.

And for now, this is enough.

It is more than enough.  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Hope will always find you in the most unexpected of places.  
> I hope all of you will find your melody.


End file.
